I rest there, overwhelmed in the
wintry emptiness, shivering
and apprehensive of the peril,
naked and exposed to the outside,
fumbling in the dark.
I can no longer envision my direction,
the route has been lost to vision,
my feelings have gone numb.
An empty heart, drained by
the whirling vortex of infinities.
I contest and cry out,
and yet I deserve this,
assembled from my own phony pride.
I now inhabit a frozen existence
waiting once more for sunlight.
Mark Snellgrove
11 June 96